The Winnebago surfing turns out to be a really bad idea... especially as Morris doesn't 'bond' with the 'magic hat'... but every cloud has a silver lining... the hospital provides Morris with the inspiration he needs to travel to his next port of call...

Can’t type today. Too much pain.

I am slowly regaining use of my hands. It hurts to type but I know you all rely on me so I shall soldier on.

I neglected to apply protective grease before strapping myself to the roof of the Winnebago for a ‘surf’. This proved to be a mistake. Uma kept on driving for six hours, unable to hear my screams for the Death Metal tape playing at full volume. By the time they pulled over I had passed out from exposure to the elements. I awoke with no sensation of any kind from the neck down and drool frozen to my cheek, a droolcicle.

Roland tells me that I passed out because the ‘magic hat’ rejected my aura.

I remember him saying - "If you’re not in tune with the hat, the hat will know, man. You’ve gotta believe in the hat."

I used what little strength I had left to shout at Roland and Uma and tell them my condition was probably less to do with a magic hat rejecting me and more to do with being strapped half-naked to the top of a speeding vehicle for six hours by two mad old hippies. They promised to get me some help and left me lying on the floor of the Winnebago with Murray’s vivarium lamp thawing me out, and then I nearly suffocated because Murray sat on my face to keep warm.

They dropped me off at a hospital.

I’m still there

Tubes are sticking out of me and I’m hooked up to a machine that beeps. The nurse jokingly said if it stops beeping then I’m dead, I didn’t find that very funny.

I feel bad about shouting at Roland and Uma. They were following their dream and I liked them for it. It’s made me realise that one person’s idea of utopia is not necessarily the same as another person’s.

I think I know why this is.

Roland and Uma spent their lives trying to attain a state of constant pleasure. Having never been to Shropshire and experienced the fulfilment inherent in living there, they stumbled blindly for many

years, trying various mystic disciplines before committing to the ‘magic hat’ thing. Now a lot of people are in the same condition as Roland and Uma, they know have a need but they don’t recognise that yearning for deeper satisfaction for what it is. Instead they mistake it for something less tangible and start messing around with dream catchers, crystals, magnetic fields and magic hats when all they really need to do is visit the West Midlands.

I firmly believe now that all people, no matter who they are or where they come from, have a genetic predisposition calling them to the soft bosom of Mother Shropshire. Perhaps it’s because Shropshire is the only place where man has ever been truly happy; perhaps it’s a homing instinct drawing them to something I don’t understand, something mystical, something truly magical that only exists in Shropshire. Whatever it is, I know now more than ever that I need to educate people, stop them wasting time looking in the wrong places when all they want is waiting for them just down the M54.

I had a dream today, Shropshire rose up like a kindly giant, green and towering and smiling from a thousand lips. It grew and embraced the world, smothering it with love, pressing down joy and peace, holding tight until the goodness had suffused the whole world and there was nothing left but one continent, one people, one Shropshire. All the people of this new world did nothing but play Bingo and watch Countdown and were really, really nice to each other. Then Richard Whitely, King of the new world, made people do conundrums, even the ones who weren’t very good at English and harshly punished the ones who couldn’t guess the word in less than thirty seconds.

I think the painkillers I’m on are making me go a bit peculiar.

I feel better today; I can feel my feet now. The nurse has been asking why I’m typing on my little palmtop and I explained about my life quest. She’s called Alice and looks ever-so-slightly like Sebastian Newbold Coe, only with longer hair and a nurse’s uniform and she’s probably slower at running. I asked Alice if she had any suggestions for where I should travel next, she told me I wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while yet.

I need inspiration, I need a sign.

A male nurse, Barry, came and saw me just now, I asked him about leaving and apparently I can discharge myself if I want, but they advise against it.

The nurse, her surname apparently is Springs – Alice Springs. I think they may be some sort of sign. I asked Barry what his surname was- It’s Areef – Barry Areef. That’s good enough for me, my mind is made up, and as soon as I can I’m flying to Australia.

If Shropshire really does exude a supernatural aura of goodness, then surely the people most in need of my help are those furthest away from it’s positive powers, and geographically Australia is as far away from Shropshire as you can get without going into orbit.

After a minor skirmish with hospital security, I’ve discharged myself and feel absolutely fine, though I do still have a couple of clear plastic tubes sticking out of my arm. My flight to Alice Springs leaves tonight, goodbye America, g’day Australia.

I’m on the plane. It’s quite a long flight.

The in-flight movie is "Daredevil", it’s an action/special effects extravaganza about a blind lawyer who gains superpowers after getting covered in radioactive fluid, it’s not as good as "Gone To Earth".

There’s some turbulence, the woman sat next to me has woken up and is panicking, I comfort her with tales of Shropshire, and she quickly falls asleep again.

I’ve landed, the great outback stretches out before me, and I’m as far away from Shropshire now as I can physically be. My beloved Moreton Say is now on the other side of the planet and the barren wilds of Australia await my compassionate touch and nurture. I have extensive knowledge of Australia, it’s people and customs, having studied Neighbours and Home And Away for many years, so I feel fully equipped to deal with anything Oz might throw at me.

It’s very, very hot here. I buy a thermos to keep my bingo markers cool in, they were beginning to melt.

I hope I do better here than I did in America.